Falling with Style
by Strawberry'd
Summary: ArthurGwen AU. Gwen has a terrible fear of flying and Arthur.. well, Arthur has cookies. For fireblazie.


**Falling with Style  
**For _fireblazie_

August 9, 2010

* * *

Gwen hated flying.

She really, really hated flying. It was completely unnatural! If people were meant to fly, they would have wings, and beaks, and those odd hollow bones that things that actually flew had. No, in her very firm opinion, humans had no business up in the air. (And don't even get her started on outer space.)

But she had this thing called a job and her job required her to fly a country and a half away. So here she was.

She didn't even need to be on a plane to be frightened; merely being in an airport was enough. She fumbled with her numerous bags (Merlin thought it would be more practical to have a largeish carry-on than to check a smallish bag in) trying to find her documentation. Where _was_ her wallet? She had bought a packet of cookies so recently they were still in her hand so it couldn't have gone far.

At least the security officer was patient. Gwen shoved the cookies in her jacket pocket, let go of her suitcase, hoisted her jacket back onto her shoulders, and rummaged through her purse.

Her ID, boarding pass, okay, they were there, and oh, she needed to put her bag on the conveyer belt. In a bin. What was that he said? Her shoes? Well, alright. And her belt. The metal detector beeped angrily at her again. Rings, watch, earrings. Damn, she should've known not to wear so much metal. More beeps. Great. Loose change in that pocket she didn't even know existed.

Finally, _finally_, she was through and yes! those were chairs! Tiredly, Gwen trotted to the chairs and threw everything down. Vaguely she registered there was a man sitting a seat away from her wearing a suit and the shiniest shoes she had ever seen. Well, as the great bard himself said, to thine own self be true.

Gwen's true was comfort, comfort, comfort. She had on her plainest t-shirt and well-worn denim shorts. On her feet were a pair of simple, white tennis shoes and her hair was absolutely nothing special. In fact, the only thing that remotely qualified as special was that it hadn't poofed up from the humidity as it usually did.

She stretched out her legs and looked at her watch (it took her an absolute age to get all her jewellery back on) which told her that there was still an hour before she could board the plane. Not that she was looking forward to that.

So she had an hour to kill. At first, she tried to read, fishing for her book in that giant purse of hers (why she even brought a book was beyond her; she would never be able to relax enough to read on the plane) but she couldn't possibly get comfortable in the hard plastic chairs they provided at the airport. Next, she tried to listen to music or even sleep a bit but nothing could hold her interest for the solid hour. Then, a thought came to her. Wasn't there? Yes! Her eyes lit up as she remembered the cookies. Cookies were definitely the way to go.

She moved her purse aside to grab at them on the chair beside her. With a small, impish smile, she tore into the packet with relish. So focused on her cookies was Gwen that she almost didn't notice the man had moved a seat closer to her so that they were sitting right next to each other. In fact, she turned to him with a hint of annoyance, wasn't he sitting rather close? She could feel the cool dress-pant-fabric as his leg pressed against her bare one.

Gwen opened her mouth to say something but remembered (in the nick of time) that it was currently full of cookie. She munched on them dutifully when, to her utter astonishment, the man (who was far too good-looking, she noted dimly and tucked that thought into a corner recess of her mind not inhabited by cookie) plucked a cookie from her open pouch and tossed it into his mouth.

Now her mouth _did_fall open (thankfully, the cookie was all swallowed by then). What was this guy _doing_? she thought furiously, her entire body frozen.

He must've noticed her shock because his eyes crinkled at the edges and he took another cookie. She mimicked his actions numbly. She chewed on her cookie with the slow motions of someone walking in a dream where everything was purple, upside-down, and covered with fur.

They sat like this for a while, eating cookie after cookie. To a stranger's eyes, it looked almost companionable. That was, until you noticed the stiffness of Gwen's shoulders and how her knees were tightly pressed together.

Then, as Gwen felt the weight of the cookie packet growing nonexistent, her mind switched from conveniently blank to bustling with thought. She opened her mouth to speak the exact moment the intercom crackled to life. A slightly electronic voice came through – "Flight 1207 to Glasgow now boarding. Flight 1207 to Glasgow. Again, that's flight 1207 to Glasgow."

The blond stranger who ate her cookies rose, grabbed his solitary bag (of fine Italian origins) and nodded to her once. "Thanks for sharing my cookies with me."

Of all the nerve! Gwen stood up angrily. He flashed her a brilliant smile and she faltered, cursing his good looks. He walked off and she almost went to follow him when she remembered her numerous bags. With a hug, she scooped up her possessions and took a step –

But he was gone.

Wha – where did he go? She tried to shake off the feeling of annoyance and sat back down. She crossed her legs once, then twice, fidgeting nervously. It felt like she was forgetting something… why was everyone getting up? Where were they all go—

That familiar feeling of panic washed over Gwen. She scrambled to get up and get all her things in order. The flight! To Glasgow! That was her flight!

In her haste, she managed to get into the plane, throw her things away in the overhead compartments, and sit down before realizing _she was on a plane_.

Then she panicked again. She gripped the armrests tightly, even though they were still firmly on the ground. The captain began his spiel, and the flight attendants did their thing, but Gwen hardly heard a word. In fact, due to the roaring in her ears, Gwen hardly thought she would be able to hear a minor explosion.

Before long (although it felt like eternity to Gwen), the plane had taken off (Gwen had her eyes shut tightly) and they were soon in the air (still keeping her death-grip on the armrests).

Gwen knew her fear was a bit mindless. Why, with the technology they'd developed at this point, nothing could be safer, right? All the usual precautions had been taken! There was absolutely no need to worry.

With deep breaths, she tried to loosen her clenched hands and even open her eyes to slivers. They still were trained on the floor though; she kept a no tolerance looking-out-the-window policy.

Okay, she told herself, this wasn't so bad. She opened her eyes fully and even brought her hands to her knees, forcing her fingers to stretch out in (what she perceived) to be a calm position.

Then she noticed them. The shoes. No one could ever have shoes kept to that degree of shiny. If she hadn't met them (the shoes) this very afternoon, she would never have believed they _could_ be so shiny.

The shiny shoes belonged to the cookie-stealing man! Her snapped up to his bemused face, all fear forgotten.

"You!" she said scornfully. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been sitting here for the past half-hour," he said calmly, a smooth British accent filling her ears (of course, he had to be beautiful and cultured). "I'm insulted you didn't even recognize me."

"Although," he added as an afterthought, "you were a touch preoccupied. Are you alright? I asked several times but you merely ignored me."

Gwen felt a painful blush spread to her cheeks. "I-I'm afraid of flying," and, as if a switch had been flicked, the panic and fear returned to her and she gasped. "We're flying!"

"As I've already mentioned: for the past half-hour." He gave her a sardonic look. "If it's so bad you can't even tell time, maybe you ought to get checked out for therapy."

Gwen felt irritation building up inside her, leaving no room for fear. "Maybe you should get yourself checked out for mental incapacity!"

Okay, maybe that was a bit loud. People were looking at her. She blushed furiously. "I mean, I didn't mean that, I just. You're really annoying!"

Again, too loud.

The man looked taken aback. "I don't think I've ever been told I was annoying. Devilishly handsome, yes. Capable of making ladies swoon at my feet, yes. I've even been told I'm beautiful. But annoying? Never." He smiled that beautiful smile again.

"I find that very difficult to believe," Gwen retorted, turning away from him and trying not to swoon at his feet. Damn him and his cheekbones.

He chuckled warmly and Gwen felt another blush coming on.

They fell into companionable silence from then on (well, to be more correct, the man fell asleep halfway through; his mouth had fallen opened and Gwen only resisted the urge to snap a photo when she realized he was still a _complete stranger_). Reflecting on that sudden desire, she could hardly believe she was thinking so much more like her normal self while _still on an airplane_.

She stared at her neighbour, noting the glints of gold in his hair, to the soft snores she swore she perceived. Awake, he was nothing short of a Greek god, but asleep, there was a demure childlike aspect to him which was very endearing.

And with that thought, Gwen focused on the back of the headrest in front of her, painfully aware of the blush that swept over her face. He wasn't supposed to be endeared to her! He was a stranger!

A stranger, she suddenly remembered, who had eaten half of her cookies! Without warning!

She shot a glare at his handsome, sleeping face and felt much better.

It didn't feel like too much longer when the seatbelt sign came on and the plane began its descent. She elbowed the man to wake him up, still resentful of the Cookie Incident. He woke up with a classy, "bwuh?" and drowsy eyes.

"Oh, we're landing?" He commented, sitting up straighter and fixing his mussed hair. He peered out the window at the growing trees and houses while Gwen concentrated on not thinking about how it would feel if the plane went _smush_ against the ground.

The plane went lower, lower, lower to the ground until it hit the runway – the landing was punctuated by a great _thud_ and a rough jostling and Gwen couldn't help herself: she let out a small scream.

The man beside her placed his hand over hers and murmured something quietly. Gwen sagged in her seat, very sure her face was now scarlet. His hand was much larger than hers and rather warm. She felt herself calm down as the plane slowed to a full stop.

People began to bustle about, gathering bags and children and sweaters. Gwen stayed in her seat, but looked up as the man stood.

"Can we please get a move on?" he said brusquely. Gwen started at the sudden change in his demeanor.

She jumped to her feet, filled with indignation. "Sure, of course," she snapped, angrily pulling her bags from the overhead compartment. "I'll just get over my debilitating fear of flying so you can get your bag made of rich Italian leather, because material possessions are worth _so_ much more than human decency."

She stomped out of the plane and all the way down the walkway, not stopping to see his reaction. Of all the nerve!

She walked into the terminal and scanned where she could obtain a taxi.

Suddenly, a voice from behind her: "You should really work on that speaking before you think thing."

She jumped. Turning, she caught a glimpse of a self-satisfied grin and did exactly the thing he suggested she fix.

"You self-righteous, undeserving prat!" She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. He took an uncertain step back. "How dare you think you can be patronizing and condescending to someone you don't even know! You think you're so great, but you can't just assume you're better than everyone else! The world doesn't work like that!"

He opened his mouth to speak, but Gwen continued with her rant. "And that thing with the cookies! Acting as if they were yours! Without a word of thanks or gratitude! I bet you just walk all over your friends, if you even have any! What kind of people are your parents for raising you like this!"

To his credit, the man took it all in stride. He looked bemused at the mention of cookies, but an expression of enlightenment settled on his face after a moment. The corners of his mouth twitched as if to smile.

Gwen couldn't stand there for another second; she walked away with the quick heel-toes of a completely justified person.

Then she was outside, in the pouring rain, _of course_. She tried to wave down a taxi and cursed each one that zoomed past her. Finally, one slowed down and she slid in, discomfort seeping through her like the very water which was causing it.

"Where to, miss?" A low Scottish accent met her ears and she started to search for the address of the hotel. It wasn't in her purse nor in her pant pockets… her jacket? Wait…

Her eyes went very round as she pulled out a small pouch. She stared at it in disbelief. Yes, it _was_ the cookie packet she bought earlier.

Then… the man…

Oh , no. Gwen laughed woodenly. If she remembered correctly, she ate _his_ cookies, then insulted him after he helped her on the plane, then insulted his parents, and told him very firmly she thought he didn't have any friends.

She put her head in her hands, not believing she did all that. She normally wasn't that kind of person at all!

The sound of the car door opening shook her out of her daze. "27 Washington Street, please. The Menzies Glasgow Hotel." It was a very familiar voice.

She stared, shocked, at the blond man she quite thoroughly insulted not ten minutes ago. Today was _not_ her day.

"Surprised I can actually say 'please'?" He sounded very amused. He spotted the cookie packet in her hand. "Oh, look, cookies."

He opened it deftly and offered her one.

Gwen numbly ate a cookie.

"My name is Arthur Pendragon. This is my number," he handed her a business card and popped a cookie into his mouth.

"Gwen," she replied, mind a-buzz.

"Here is okay," he spoke to the taxi driver, handing him some bills, and opened the door to a random street.

To Gwen, he said, "Call me. We should go for dinner sometime. I know a great restaurant in Glasgow."

Then, with a wink, he exited the taxi and strolled down the street, shoes still unreasonably shiny.

* * *

My first fic in a _very_ long time. For my darling fireblazie! A very belated birthday present. I don't usually write Arthur/Gwen but this was for her!

Title is from the Pixar movie _Toy Story_.

Thank you for reading!


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